


Romancing Sherlock Holmes

by Desertpoet



Series: Embracing Chaos [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Loki is John Watson, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desertpoet/pseuds/Desertpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki needs to hide from his father for a while and decides that Midgard is the perfect place. He takes on the persona of Dr. John Watson.  Life gets even more interesting when he meets Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock is by turns infuriating and fascinating and Loki is quickly smitten. He is determined to woo and win Sherlock for his own. However, fate might have other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains Angst and more Angst. I also can't promise a happy ending for this story. Although the series will eventually have an HEA.
> 
> Beta read by the wonderful Rowaine.

**Part 1**

London, England, on Midgard 1890

Loki Odinson, God of Mischief and Chaos, walked quickly down the darkened street; the light from the few gas lamps lining the street barely penetrated the darkness. The cold night air around him was filled with foul odors and everything was shrouded in a heavy fog. He couldn’t make out any of the grime-covered buildings in the gloom. A man brazenly rushed by him, shoving Loki out of the way with a very rude comment. Loki waved his hands and caused the man’s belt to break; he muffled a laugh as the man yelped and struggled to hang on to his trousers, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Loki smiled in satisfaction. A bit of mischief always made him feel more like himself.  Midgard, no matter the year, was really very depressing. The willingness of humans to live surrounded by filth never ceased to amaze him. They were barbaric but Loki was willing to endure anything for his soul mate, even living countless lives among humans.

He pulled subtly on his magic and sent out a few questing tendrils to make sure he was still traveling in the right direction. There was a warm answering pulse of energy from the bond, and Loki smiled sincerely for the first time in a very long time. His heart began a hard gallop inside his chest. He was about to see his beloved once again.

It had been many years since his soul mate had last reincarnated and he was anxious to find them and be close to them once again. He had missed his beloved wife fiercely. Their last life together had been painfully short, and the time between incarnations seemed to be increasing. It was all quite unfair as far as Loki was concerned. He had bided his time and planned carefully. This time would be different. This time he and his soul mate would not be separated.

Now finally, after what seemed an eternity, the moment was once again at hand. He spared a second to wonder what his soul mate was like in this life. Things like gender hardly mattered to him, but he hoped that their life had been a good one up to this point and that they would be willing to accept him into their life. While sometimes painful, getting to know a new person could also be very exciting. The variety and uncertainty appealed to his chaotic nature, and it added spice to his otherwise lonely existence.

Spurred on by the knowledge that his soul mate was close by, he quickened his pace. He was extremely impatient to get their meeting over with and begin their new life together.

He turned down an alley and upon exiting, he was surprised to find himself outside a row of darkened factory buildings. The familiar sounds of drunken revelry drifted from a nearby tavern that was located a couple of streets over. He had expected some sort of lodgings. What was his mate doing in such a dangerous area, at this time of night? Loki looked around but aside for a drunk stumbling unevenly down the street, he could not make out anyone in the darkness. The drunk turned the corner around one of the buildings and disappeared from view. He felt along the link with his magic and knew that he was in the right place, and yet he couldn’t see his soul mate anywhere. What was going on? The bond had never failed him before.

He tugged gently and the connection responded, thrumming in response. The answering magic of the soul bond tingled against his skin. It led behind one of the factories which stood directly in front of him. He gazed at it eagerly for a moment.  He was close, just a little bit further now. He followed the thread easily and began to walk toward the closest factory, when he suddenly heard the unmistakable sounds of a fight. Was his soul mate in some sort of trouble?

Loki broke out into a run, and as he rounded the corner he could make out four men fighting in the soft light offered by a couple of oil lamps sitting on nearby boxes. Loki watched for a moment, getting his bearings and letting his eyes adjust. He knew instantly he was in the presence of his soul mate and almost rushed over in his eagerness to touch. He forced himself to hang back and assess the situation. His attention turned to the fight that was unfolding before him. He could see the fight was very unjust. Three men were fighting his soul mate, although the lone man seemed to be holding his own and displayed some excellent fighting skills. Loki couldn’t help but admire his technique for a few seconds. His love was always graceful and lovely to watch.

He watched as his mate hit one of the men hard enough that he hit a stack of wooden boxes; he must have hit his head because he stayed down. Taking this as his cue, Loki entered the fight. He didn’t dare use his magic in front of so many witnesses - it was a shame really because these men would have made excellent goats. Instead he went for the man who was about to attack his soul mate from behind. Loki felt a surge of anger, and he growled. How dare this disgusting miscreant attack what was his?

Loki moved close and kicked out, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him, and as the man hit the ground Loki grabbed his head and slammed it against the hard-packed dirt hard enough to cause unconsciousness. One villain taken care of, he turned just in time to head butt his closest assailant and then slam a fist into his face, knocking him out. The final man, realizing he was out numbered, turned and tried to run, but Loki subtly let out some magic causing the man to trip over his own feet. Before he could get up Loki had his gun in his hand, and when the man saw it he subsided nicely.

“Stay down,” he admonished the man sternly. He glared for good measure and was rewarded for his trouble when the man did as he was told.

Assured the situation was now under his control, Loki turned his full attention to his mate for the first time. His heart sped up, but Loki knew it had nothing to do with the adrenaline from the fight. The first moment of contact was always something to be savored and he tried to commit every moment to memory.

He wished there was better light, but from what he could see his mate was tall and well-formed with dark hair. He looked up into brown eyes that sparkled with a very familiar intelligence. The eyes really were the windows to the soul, and even without the bond, Loki could always recognize his soul mate by his eyes.

The man moved toward him and spoke, “Thank you for your timely assistance, my good man. I’m fortunate you happened by.” Those dark eyes studied him intently, and he shivered. He got the impression that he was being carefully assessed and dissected; that this man already know everything there was to know about him. Well, everything Loki wanted him to know, anyway. _Act like a stranger would. This man has no idea who you are,_ he reminded himself.

“It’s no trouble, I’m happy to be of assistance.” He held out his hand. “Dr. John Watson, at your service.”

The man spoke with a genteel accent which Loki wasn’t expecting, his voice dark and rich like fine chocolate. Yet, it seemed to caress Loki’s skin like exquisite silk. He couldn’t wait to hear it when it was laced with passion and arousal.

“I am Sherlock Holmes. If I might ask, how did you surmise I was worthy of your assistance? For all you know, I am a thief and I deserved to be beaten senseless.”

Damn. His mate was very observant. Affection swelled in his heart, along with a healthy dose of caution. He must be careful - Sherlock Holmes was extremely clever.

Loki thought quickly. “It was three on one, that hardly seemed sporting odds to me,” he said truthfully. “My instincts told me you needed help. And, if you are the villain of this piece, I still have my gun. Just say the word and I will summon the constable to collect you, then humbly apologize to the men. Once they regain consciousness, of course.” He shrugged.

Sherlock snorted with amusement, and Loki felt a small answering smile tugging at his lips.

Then Sherlock frowned. Those sharp eyes watched carefully.  “Hmm, that is the truth, but only up to a point. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.” He gazed at Loki with surprise, and almost reverence. “So little interests me these days,” Sherlock informed him.

There was an odd note to his voice, a darkness overtook his features, and Loki longed to do something to clear it. But then it disappeared and Loki wondered if he had imagined it.

“So are you decided to be my hero?” Sherlock asked, lightness returning to his voice.

Loki started in surprise. He opened his mouth to make some sort of response, but before he could Sherlock continued, “You are a Doctor but also a solider, if I’m not mistaken, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan. Not injured, your tour was up and you chose to return home. You have been in London but a few hours, and you came out here looking for someone. Am I right?” Sherlock smiled, clearly pleased with his deductions. There was an aura of anticipation around him as he awaited confirmation from Loki. His confidence was very attractive.

 _He was also right_ , Loki thought admiringly. Sherlock’s skill of observation was astonishing. Much of the information didn’t surprise Loki; after all this body was a solider and a Doctor, but how had Sherlock known that Loki had come looking for him. No matter what, his soul mate never ceased to surprise him. He let his happiness show on his face.

“That was amazing,” he said sincerely. “Right on all counts, although I wasn’t so much looking for something, as feeling at a complete loss and trying to decide what to do with myself.” He smiled his best deprecating smile. He was confident he’d be believed. He was called Silver Tongue by many, and it was an accurate description, though Loki hated to admit it.

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a moment. Then the man at their feet had finally had enough and decided to make a run for it. Before he could get very far, a gun appeared in Sherlock’s hand almost as if by magic, and he shot the man in the leg, stopping his escape. The man screamed as he hit the ground, clutching his leg and crying and generally making a ridiculous spectacle of himself, in Loki’s opinion. He sighed in annoyance.

“Did you really have to shoot him? A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he asked Sherlock irritably. “I suppose I’d better take a look at him.” He silently thanked his mother for teaching him the healing arts.

He moved over to the groaning man. “I’m a doctor. Let me see.” The man allowed him to examine him, while Sherlock went over to another man and began searching through his pockets.

The wound was a through and through. “You’ll be fine,” he told the man. He didn't have any bandages so he ripped off part of his shirt and wrapped the wound. “That should hold you until the local law enforcement arrive.”

Sherlock made a triumphant noise, catching Loki’s attention.

He turned to Sherlock. “I take it you found what you’re looking for,” he said dryly. “Shouldn’t we summon the police?” he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “I was working this case for my brother. His people should be along to collect all three of them shortly.” He radiated satisfaction and self-assurance. Gods, he was a beautiful sight. Loki filed away the information about a brother for later. Right now, he had a more important question.

“What’s all this about?” he asked.

Then, as if he had been waiting for this very moment, with a flourish Sherlock revealed a beautiful diamond and gold necklace with an enormous sapphire in the middle. It sparkled in the faint light provided by the lamps.  It was too dark to tell, but Loki assumed it was real, and therefore extremely valuable.

Sherlock looked quite pleased with himself. “This was stolen from the home of the Andorran ambassador. I’m told his wife was very distraught over the theft. Such a loss could prove embarrassing, and my brother offered my services to retrieve it. Without involving the authorities, of course.”

Loki nodded. “Of course,” he agreed absently. Loki couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Is your brother powerful?” he asked.

“Very,” Sherlock replied. “In fact, I would say he _is_ the British government.” Loki rasied an eyebrow at this unexpected information. It seemed Sherlock had some powerful connections. That could prove useful. Money and power were necessary for surviving in this world

Loki blinked. That was unexpected. _What did that mean?_ he wondered. He knew most Midgardian countries had governing bodies, and that in addition England also had a Queen at its head. Loki approved. He didn’t think most humans were civilized enough to govern themselves _. I’ve been surprised a number of times tonight_ , he reflected. He smiled widely, as excitement filled his veins. He’d missed the wonderful joy only being near his soul mate could bring. Life with his soul mate was never boring, that was a certainty!

Then he realized what Sherlock had said and he grew angry, his happiness of a moment ago forgotten. “You went after jewel thieves alone? You could have been hurt or killed! What were you thinking, Sy- Holmes?”

Loki cursed himself. He had almost called Sherlock by his long dead wife’s name. It was always difficult to grow accustomed to a new name at first. He’d caught his slip, thank the Norns. Sherlock started with an S, and there is no way he could know the true enormity of the error Loki had almost made.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his irate tone, but simply replied, “I assure you I was completely safe.” His tone was reproachful.

Loki took a deep breath. He forced himself to calm down. _Carefully_ , he reminded himself _. Don’t jump in too_ quickly. He nodded. “Of course, forgive me. It isn’t my place to scold you like a child,” he said contritely.

Despite his words he felt his chest tighten with fear. The man clearly needed a keeper, and Loki was ready and willing to take on the job. Sherlock would not leave him alone again. He frowned. Usually he found some way to insert himself in his soul mate’s life rather easily. It was as if fate created a place for him, but so far he had no idea how to keep close to Sherlock. He sighed in frustration.

As if reading his mind, Sherlock said, “You must be in need of a place to stay. As it happens, I am in need of someone to share my rooms. I rent a set of rooms on Baker Street, in Marylebone.”

It seemed his mate was already beginning to trust him. _Good_ , Loki thought in relief. He had no idea where that was but he assumed it was expensive.

He jumped at the chance his soul mate had offered him and nodded. “It’s true I am a bit homeless at the moment. I’d be delighted to consider your proposition,” he said, making sure to show how truly grateful he was. “May I come inspect the rooms? Is tomorrow too soon?”

Sherlock nodded agreement. “You should know I enjoy playing the violin at all hours and various scientific pursuits of an experimental nature. Things may occasionally get a bit…volatile,” he said in a confidential tone. "Would this bother you?”

Loki hesitated. He didn’t want to seem too eager. “Volatile?” he asked in a cautious tone.

“I assure you it’s nothing to worry about," Sherlock said, waving his concern away and looking at Loki expectantly. "Are you amenable?" he prompted when Loki didn't speak.

Loki gave in to his desire and nodded firmly. “Tomorrow it is then. Would around ten in the morning suit you?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Best make it after noon,” he said. “Even a man of my genius must sleep sometime. The address is 221 B.”

Their business concluded, Sherlock shook his hand and just like that he was gone, disappearing into the fog like an apparition - leaving Loki staring after him like a besotted fool. “Until tomorrow, my love,” he murmured and then walked away in the opposite direction. A feeling of hope he’d long denied coursed through him. For the first time in a long time, he felt alive once again.

 

**Part 2**

The next morning Loki was back out early. He wanted to make sure he arrived at Baker Street on time. He was practically humming with impatience and eagerness. Loki had spent the night in a small, cramped room in a boarding house near where Sherlock had left him. The room had been relatively clean, but the bed had been horribly uncomfortable; he had the backache to prove it. He’d longed for his comfortable bed back on Asgard. Maintaining this form took a lot of energy and while he could perform small amounts of magic with little effort, changing his shape was more difficult.

Therefore, he had little choice but to endure. With him he carried one suitcase filled with a few stolen clothes, and a medical bag he’d found in a second hand shop. He’d stolen it as well. It wouldn’t do to have a brand new one. He’d have to see about getting some money soon. He had some gold and jewels secreted away for just such occasions.

Normally he would have used his magic to get a suite at one of the city’s finest hotels, but there was no way a pensioned army doctor could afford a luxurious hotel room, even for one night. Sherlock Holmes was far too observant, and he’d been afraid Sherlock would be able to tell instantly how he’d spent the night.

The last thing Loki wanted to do was raise Sherlock’s suspicion too early, so for now he had to maintain appearances and live the life he had created for himself. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go as far as seeing patients. The thought of being forced to regularly interact and touch humans other than his soul mate was daunting to say the least. Particularly diseased and dirty humans, he thought with a disgusted shudder.

Loki was practiced in the art of deceiving others; it was an unfortunate but necessary skill. He took a certain amount of pride in his ability to convince others of what he needed them to believe. Despite what his brother and father thought, he did not consider it a personal failing.

However, Loki hated lying to his soul mate. It was a necessary evil and it was always one of the hardest parts of beginning a new life. He hoped that in this life he would get to tell Sherlock everything, but he had to be patient. These things had to be done in a delicate manner. Loki smiled to himself with anticipation. He always enjoyed wooing and winning his soul mate’s affections.

The chase was always very diverting and Loki was extremely good at it. He had no doubt he would win the heart of Sherlock Holmes. The wooing would make the winning all the sweeter. However, he knew that each version of his soul mate was his or her own unique person. They had many similar qualities to be sure, but he would have to get to know Sherlock before he could be certain how to proceed. Sherlock would feel drawn to him - the soul bond’s attempt to pull them closer - but Loki knew that was no guarantee.

Even if he succeeded in earning Sherlock’s love, he knew that what destiny gave it could also take away.  She was a fickle bitch, after all. His gut clenched at the thought of losing Sherlock; he didn’t know if he could survive yet another loss. All he could do was try his hardest and hope for the best. _Hope was a double-edged sword_ , he reflected. Every being in the universe needed hope in their lives, and yet the loss of it, the disappointment when one’s hopes turned to ash, was excruciatingly painful. Loki pulled himself from his dark thoughts. His soul mate was nearby; it was no time to be maudlin.

When he arrived in Baker Street, he was relieved to see it was an affluent neighborhood indeed. Far removed from the sadness and desperation of the East End. Westminster was an entirely different world, a world in which Loki was far more comfortable. He was a prince, after all. He had certain standards.  Not that he wouldn’t live in a hovel with his love, if necessary - but luckily it had never come to that.

He knocked on the door and was led inside by a kind woman who said she was the housekeeper. She had him hang up his coat in the entry hall and led him up the stairs, chatting all the way. Loki liked Mrs. Hudson on sight. She was both sturdy and steady. _She’d have to be, to put up with Sherlock_ , he thought affectionately.

He was led into a very comfortable sitting room that was extremely untidy. There were boxes everywhere. Loki recognized several pieces of medical equipment, and was that a skull on the desk? It seemed Sherlock was even more unusual than he’d initially realized. There was a warm fire in the grate, which felt good after the cold outside.

“Excuse the mess, sir,” Mrs. Hudson said apologetically. “Mr. Holmes has just moved in, as you can see. The whole house looks like a hurricane blew through it.”

Loki frowned. He preferred neatness, but he supposed he’d have to get used to certain things living with Sherlock. He could tell this version of his mate had a lot of energy, to go with his large intellect. It wasn’t an average man that went after jewel thieves on his own.

Just then Sherlock entered and Loki felt as if his breath had been stolen from his lungs. He felt tears sting his eyes as he was able to look upon his beloved once again. The face was unfamiliar still, but it hardly mattered. The need to be closer to Sherlock was almost irresistible. Like a fish on a hook he was being reeled in, and when Sherlock saw him and smiled, clearly glad to see him, Loki thought his heart would burst from the intensity of his own answering joy.

“Watson,” Homes exclaimed heartily. “I see you found us. Good, good! So what do you think of the place?” he asked excitedly.

“Well, I haven’t seen much as yet,” Loki admitted with a bright smile. “But if the bedrooms are as nice as this, I’m sure it will be quite suitable for my needs.”

“Splendid. Glad to hear it. Let me give you the tour,” Sherlock offered. Loki eagerly accepted. Sherlock showed him the breakfast room, a very spacious bed room, and another room he said that Loki could use to see patients if he wished. Loki nodded but refrained from commenting on a possible medical practice. He didn’t want to give Sherlock any confirmation of his ideas.

As the tour ended, much to Loki’s embarrassment, his empty stomach rumbled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t had a chance yet to eat today,” he explained. His mate laughed and Loki was arrested by the sight as the world seemed to stop.

He became aware his Sherlock was speaking to him. “I’m sorry. I was distracted for a moment. What did you say?”

“I said Mrs. Hudson has prepared lunch for us. Since you are clearly hungry, I suggest we go and eat.”

Loki could see sympathy in Sherlock’s eyes. _He thinks I can’t afford the price of a meal. Well, he’s not wrong._ Loki thought wryly. “That sounds wonderful, thank you,” Loki agreed eagerly. In truth, he had been so excited he’d forgotten to eat.

That sat down to a simple but delicious meal of soup and cold, left-over ham, and had a pleasant conversation. Loki took advantage of the chance to learn a little more about his mate. Sherlock, he was not all the surprised to learn, was fascinated by crime.

“I have always been interested in the criminal mind. Although, sadly most criminals prove no match for me,” Sherlock confided. Loki could easily believe that. He knew Sherlock wasn’t being boastful. Sherlock was truly amazing. Loki knew he was a lucky God.

Loki tried not to stare too adoringly at his mate. “Do you specialize in a certain type of crime or is it all equally fascinating for you?” Loki enquired. He wanted to keep Sherlock talking.

Sherlock shrugged. “Any truly interesting puzzle is always welcome, I do confess I find a clever murder especially intriguing. There is nothing like a having a good murder to solve.” Sherlock said with relish. His beautiful eyes shown with excitement, and he fidgeted in his seat as if unable to control his enthusiasm.

Loki was surprised but also charmed to see his mate so excited. He knew others would be put off by Sherlock’s slightly odd fascination with death, but Loki had been alive a long time, and he knew one could learn many things about the living from studying the dead. He had always admired his mate’s inquisitive nature. No matter the lifetime his mate felt the need to find the answer to life’s mysteries.

He opened his mouth to ask a question but Sherlock spoke again before he could. Loki relaxed content to let his mate talk.

“While I find a good murder very diverting, in truth, I have varied interests. One never knows what bit of information might prove the key to solving a case. Did you know there are precisely 140 different types of tobacco ash. I made an extensive study. It took several months,” he explained excitedly, as his food continued to sit untouched on his plate.

Loki shook his head. “I had no idea there were that many.” he admitted. “I would never have thought to investigate such a thing.”

“Most people wouldn’t,” Sherlock acknowledged. But then most people are dreadfully dull.” He looked at John, and hastily added. “Present company excepted of course. You seem marginally more clever than most.” Loki couldn’t help but grin, not taking any offense at his mate’s words. It just so happened he agreed.

“I am always looking for ways to improve my investigative techniques.” Sherlock continued. He waved his fork around but did not eat. “In fact I have perfected a new formula for testing blood stains under a microscope. Up until recently only fresh blood was useful for examination, but my new process will make it possible to gain information from blood that is several hours old. Many more criminals will know answer for their crimes.” Sherlock looked very satisfied with the idea.

While not really surprised Loki was very intrigued. From the sound of it Sherlock’s methods were quite advanced for the time. His mate never failed to amaze him. Loki allowed his feelings to show on his face

“That is brilliant!” he exclaimed. “I would be very interested in witnessing your new methods.”

Sherlock looked surprised and then very pleased. “I confess I am surprised to hear you say that.” Sherlock said.. Most find my discussions of my scientific experiments boring in the extreme.”

“I assure I would not be bored at all. I am a Doctor after all and have made an extensive study of several science. I find scientific experimentation a worthwhile pursuit. I would be honored to see some of your work.” Loki added eagerly. He waited to hear Sherlock’s answer with bated breath. He hoped Sherlock would be willing to open himself up and give him a more substantial place in his life than that of flat mate.

Before he could answer, however Loki’s happy bubble was burst when a young looking police officer rushed into the room. “Mr. Sherlock. Lestrade has sent me to fetch you,” he said urgently. “There has been a murder. It’s an odd one, sir. Will you come?”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up in interest and excitement. In a moment he was up and gone, calling over his shoulder as he went, “I’m sorry, Dr. Watson. Duty calls and all that, but make yourself at home.” And with that Sherlock was down the stairs and out the door, leaving Loki behind apparently without a single thought.

Loki was disappointed by Sherlock’s abandonment, but decided not to worry. It was only the first day, and there would be ample time for he and Sherlock to get to know one another surely. It was only a matter of time before they would be happy and in love once more.

****

Loki was about ready to pull his hair out with frustration. He was at a loss. No matter what he did, Sherlock was just not interested in him. This had never happened to him before. His soul mate was always interested in him whether as a friend or a lover; they always managed to find some common ground. However, he had been living with Sherlock for more than two weeks and he may as well have been a piece of the furniture, for all the attention Sherlock paid him.

Sherlock had proved somewhat more difficult to live with than Loki had expected. His moods were mercurial, to say the least. He was filled with manic energy one moment, and then lethargic and silent for days on end. He performed all manner of experiments, and Loki had quickly discovered that when Sherlock was around explosions were very real possibilities.

One early morning he’d been awakened by the sound of a woman screaming. He had grabbed his gun and a dressing gown, and raced down the stairs only to find Sherlock had accidently set the settee on fire. He was trying to put it out with little success, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers. Even in the middle of an emergency such as this, Loki couldn’t help but admire his mate’s bare skin. He was mesmerized by the way the muscles of his chest moved and the strength of his back. His skin glistening with sweat was most distracting. Loki shook himself and ran out into the hall and conjured a bucket of water, then put the fire out. It had greatly taxed his magical reserves.

Loki didn’t mind a good fire or explosion - they were excellent instruments of chaos - but he preferred they not be in his own sitting room. He’d been furious with Sherlock. “You could have killed us all, Holmes,” he’d yelled right into the man’s face. He had invaded the other man’s space in a very rude manner, but he had been too caught up to care. Sherlock Holmes’ willingness to just throw himself into danger would drive him insane, he could already tell. Life with Sherlock would have him constantly on edge. No matter what form he took, no one could get under Loki’s skin like his beloved mate.

It was true; he’d lost his temper and let Sherlock know that this wasn’t acceptable. He might have raised his voice a bit, but he’d really been quite provoked. Sherlock had responded by sulking like a small child and giving him the silent treatment. This was almost five days ago and Sherlock had not spoken to him since. Loki would be willing to put out a fire every single day for the rest of his life, if only Sherlock would talk to him again.

Loki had even taken to helping out the children of Sherlock’s Irregulars with their medical needs to assuage his boredom. They were ill-mannered rascals, every one, and Loki liked them immensely. They were good lads and Loki hated to see any child suffer, so he really didn’t mind. It was not however, what he wanted to spend this life time doing. He had even agreed to have a look at Mrs. Hudson’s bunions. He shuddered at the memory. It was something he hoped he’d never have to repeat.

Loki did not know what to do. Sherlock was lucky Loki had no desire to kill him. Only his mate could get away with making Loki feel this wretched. It was torture being near Sherlock every day and not be allowed to touch or kiss him, but to be denied the closeness that came with friendship was truly unbearable. He found himself considering increasingly outlandish scenarios to garner his attention - he had even thought about coming to the breakfast table stark naked. He had decided against it for fear he might give Mrs. Hudson a heart attack, but also because he was secretly afraid he’d get no reaction at all from the man. It was enough to make even a God doubt his appeal.

Loki looked at himself in the mirror appraisingly; he was greeted by a face that was slowly becoming more familiar to him. He thought it quite attractive when he chose it. It wasn’t as appealing as his natural form, of course, but he quite liked it. The body was well formed; while not overly muscular it was strong. He had striking features, a strong, regal nose, deep blue eyes, and blond hair. Apparently his good looks were wasted on his soul mate. He knew he must interest Sherlock on some level - it was the nature of the bond.

He wished he could ask his mother for advice. Frigga was wise in many ways, including matters of the heart. He didn’t dare contact her, not yet. He missed her terribly; unfortunately, their communications had to be reserved for emergencies only. His father and brother could not know where he was. Odin did not approve of Loki “chasing after his human like a dog”. Those had been his very words. It did not matter to him that Sigyn had once been an Asgardian, a goddess in her own right. To him humans were little better than dumb beasts of burden.

He would have to make it impossible for Sherlock to ignore him. He would insert himself into his mate’s next case and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He would prove how useful he could be to his mate’s work and he would become so indispensable to Sherlock that he would never leave him behind again. He had been alive for thousands of years and along the way had learned many useful skills.

Newly resolved, he decided he’d stick to Sherlock like honey on toast so that there was no way he could be ignored.

As he neared the sitting room, he heard voices. The voice of an unfamiliar woman caught his ear. Sherlock had many female clients, but Loki found he didn’t care at all for this one. The tone was sweet and yet extremely coy.

“Oh really, Sherlock, darling,” the woman was saying as he entered the room.

He gritted his teeth, trying to get control of his rioting emotions. What gave this woman the right to call his beloved “darling”? Only Loki should have that privilege.

The sight that greeted him did nothing to decrease his ire. Sherlock was sitting on the new sofa - the sofa that Loki had carefully picked out for him - in nothing but his robe, and there was a beautiful woman practically sitting in his lap. Worse, Sherlock didn’t seem to be doing anything to dissuade her. He was allowing some woman to grope him and flirt with him shamelessly, and he wouldn’t even give Loki the time of day.  His eyes were sparkling with interest and amusement. This simple would not do. If this woman had designs on his Sherlock he’d turn her into a toad; she would look wonderful covered in warts.

Loki was distracted from his fevered plotting by Sherlock’s voice. “Ah Watson, good to see you. Come and meet Mrs. Adler. She is an old… associate of mine.” Apparently Loki was forgiven, for the moment. At least having this woman in his home had been good for something.

Loki knew he hadn’t imagined the telling pause and wondered what it could mean. His mind offered up horrible images of Sherlock in this woman’s arms, kissing her passionately. Fresh pain stabbed mercilessly at his heart.  Loki strove to ignore his feelings and focus on his new adversary.

The woman before him was dressed elegantly in a very fashionable ensemble. He raked his eyes over her, not caring that he was being rude. He was forced to admit she was beautiful and exuded a raw sex appeal that was unmistakable. She rose to greet him properly, and he was startled by the cold cunning in her eyes as they assessed each other. Her eyes narrowed and he knew that their dislike was mutual. She too saw him as an adversary for Sherlock’s affections.

She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Irene Adler, an old friend of Sherlock’s.” Loki took her hand and kissed it.

“Dr. John Watson,” he introduced himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman, especially a friend of Sherlock’s,” he said, faking as much joviality as he could. Irene followed suit but he could tell she wasn’t fooled.

“So you are Sherlock’s new flat mate. He tells me you helped him out of a tight spot a few weeks ago. How fortunate you happened upon him at just the right time.”

Loki heard the emphasis on the words _right time_ and grinned. So she was suspicious of his motives, was she? She was indeed very intelligent. It had been a long time since he’d matched wits with a worthy adversary. In spite of his horribly bad mood, excitement sang in his veins. He loved a good fight and Loki never lost. He would not fail - Sherlock’s affections were at stake. Loki could not imagine a more valuable prize. As the conversation continued,

Sherlock seemed for once apparently oblivious to the undercurrent of hostility in the room. Loki began to form a plan to remove Irene permanently from both his and his mate’s lives. He would have to study his new adversary carefully and learn her weaknesses. Loki had learned the art of war at his father’s knee, and Odin did not believe in mercy.  Irene Adler wouldn’t know what hit her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 3**

Sherlock Holmes was in a foul but pensive mood. It seemed to be his permanent state of late. He lay on his brand new but very comfortable sofa in deep thought. Occasionally, he took a drink from his whiskey glass. He would have preferred something stronger like embalming fluid, but for the moment he felt the need to keep his wits about him. He thought about many topics - he was a genius, after all. However, foremost in his mind was the bizarre and unfathomable turn his life had recently taken, and his own even stranger behavior.

He knew he wasn’t what anyone would consider normal. This had never really bothered him. Even as a small child, he had never felt the desire to fit in to be accepted by others. He’d realized very early on in his life, that compared to him, most other people were dreadfully dull creatures. This realization had never given him much worry.

He had never been one who needed much companionship. He had his own thoughts, his books, and his experiments for company. He preferred to live a solitary existence. People were useful - in as much as they provided him the work he needed, but he was not interested in interacting with them on a more intimate level.

If he occasionally felt the need to speak to someone, his brother would usually oblige him with a drink at his favorite club. _Because God forbid Mycroft ever deviate from his routine. Countries might literally fall or a world war might break out,_ Sherlock thought churlishly. Sherlock loved his brother but he could be quite tiresome. He was the only person Sherlock knew whose intellect matched his own. As a result, he was one of the few people Sherlock found bearable. Still, no one else had ever been willing to put up with Sherlock’s strangeness on a semi-permanent basis besides Mycroft – until John Watson had literally come running to his rescue.

Not even Irene could handle Sherlock for more than a couple of days at a time. He knew Irene desired him, but up until now, he had never really understood her desire for physical intimacy with him. He didn’t trust Irene of course - he pitied any man who did - but he admired her a great deal. He had never met a woman with more intelligence and ambition. However, her amorous intentions toward him had always made him uncomfortable.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy sex on some level. He had indulged himself at University, sowed his wild oats as young men were wont to do - but while he’d enjoyed the physical stimulation to a certain extent, he’d quickly grown bored. Particularly with the post sex rituals that he had been forced to endure. Sherlock had no desire to linger after sex and hold his partner close, or worse yet _talk_ to them.

Even at university, most people were incapable of holding his attention for more than a few minutes. An orgasm or two, though pleasurable, simply hadn’t been worth the aggravation of being forced to associate with other people at regular intervals. Particularly when he could pleasure himself whenever he wished, and then move on to other more intellectual pursuits. All without having to deal with another person’s emotional needs.

This arrangement had always suited him quite well, until John Watson had come into his life. From the moment he’d first seen John, Sherlock had wanted him. As soon as he’d caught sight of the stranger that had come to his rescue, Sherlock had been completely and hopelessly distracted. So much so that he’d actually been in danger of losing his fight for several seconds. An occurrence that, up until that moment, he would have said was practically impossible. He was enthralled by the man’s lithe agility and his excellent fighting skills. He had the strength and economy of movement of a warrior. If not for the fact that his attention was required elsewhere, he would have stared in mute wonderment at the sight before him.

After the thieves had been taken care of, it was all he could do not to corner the man and demand to know everything about him. He had to fight the urge to hold him and never let go. When the man had introduced himself, his voice had washed over Sherlock and filled him with longing. John’s voice was husky and warm. Sherlock felt that he could drown in that beautiful voice. He spoke with confidence, clearly accustomed to being obeyed. His voice had a strange effect upon Sherlock. He felt desire course through him, quite unexpected and unwelcome, but it had thrilled him and inexplicably made him feel safe. He'd thought he would do almost anything if only Watson would keep speaking forever.

When they had touched, his hand had tingled and Sherlock felt a feeling of recognition deep within. Along with an explicable sense of relief. It had left him bewildered and off balance. In self-preservation he had focused on the matter at hand and found the necklace, completing his case. Afterwards, at the thought he might never see John Watson again, he had panicked and latched onto the first thing he could think of to keep the man at his side. He had not been as surprised as he should have been when John agreed to share his rooms. His agreement had simply felt right, as had having the man near him ever since.

Sherlock had never considered himself to be a coward, but he could admit in the privacy of his own mind that he was confounded and terrified by all the feelings John inspired in him. His desire for his flat mate, to be near him, to touch him, increased every day. For the first time in his life, he was overloaded by emotion. It didn’t help that he found John endlessly intriguing. A fact that was frankly disquieting and mind-boggling in equal measure.

By all accounts, he was exactly what he appeared to be, and yet Sherlock sensed that there was much more. Little inconsistencies that intrigued him. There was something odd about him that Sherlock couldn’t put his finger on. He sensed there was much more to John than what one could see on the surface. The puzzle that was Dr. John Watson was endlessly fascinating. Sherlock observed him at every opportunity. He would live and breathe John Watson if he could. He thought he could be near John every day and never grow bored.

In the face of such unprecedented events, Sherlock had done the only thing he could think of - he’d run away. He’d buried himself in his experiments and his work, and acted as if John did not exist. John had tried to start a few conversations but they had been stilted and awkward at best. The ease banter they had shared a distant memory. Sherlock could not seem to get his tongue to work properly around John. He’d behaved like a brutish lout, and been unforgivably rude. He hated himself for the pain he knew he’d caused John. It was all over his face. Despite his deplorable behavior, he lived for the moments when he saw John every day.

He knew John was confused by his behavior, but Sherlock found himself immobilized by indecision for the first time he could remember. He didn’t know what to say or how to act. He cared what John thought of him, and it infuriated him. The whole situation was so maddening, it was unbearable. The worst part was that Sherlock was terrified John would leave him. He wanted desperately to get to know him, to be his friend and perhaps someday more. However, he did not know how best to proceed.

The plain truth was that he did not know if he could love another. Sherlock was self-aware enough to know he was quite selfish and self-involved. He did not put others first. He never worried about the feelings of others, or how his behavior might affect them. He did not know if he could make a real relationship with another person work, but he wanted to try.

This revelation had finally convinced him he had to make some sort of initial overture, but he was at a loss. His vast intelligence had failed him. He knew nothing of love or courting another. _What kind of overture would John prefer?_ he wondered helplessly. He wished he’d taken the time to get to know John better. For the first time, observation had not given him all the knowledge he craved. He had no idea. It was deeply troubling. Sherlock sighed in frustration and raked his hand through his hair.

He had briefly considered asking his brother for advice. But he knew Mycroft would only mock him, and deride him for letting his emotions rule him. Mrs. Hudson was also out of the question. He had briefly thought to ask Irene, but when he’d seen the instant animosity that had sprung up between her and John he had dismissed the notion. He didn't dare expose John to Irene's ire or her manipulations.

He couldn’t deny the thrill he’d felt at the evidence of John’s jealousy.  He happily soaked up the evidence of John’s regard for him; he had felt exuberant at the knowledge. Afterwards, he’d felt a bone deep weariness, and a deep loneliness overtook him. For the first time, Sherlock Holmes did not want to be alone. The idea of living as he always had was painful.

Suddenly, he was tired of wallowing in self-pity. _You are truly contemptible, Holmes_ , he thought in self-disgust.  He needed to stop thinking for a while. He didn’t have a case to distract him at the moment. Not that distracting himself with work had been particularly effective. The flat was filled with John’s presence, and Sherlock felt the need to escape it. He’d go to his boxing club and fight until he was exhausted, and then he’d get drunk. Perhaps the answer would come to him, and if not at least he could get away from John Watson’s wonderful yet utterly distracting presence, if only for a short while.

 

**Part 4**

Sherlock moved as quickly as he could, in his admittedly extremely compromised state. The room was hot and redolent with the combined scents of unwashed men, desperation and stale beer. The crowed jeered their displeasure at his efforts to avoid being hit. He knew he would find no friends in this crowd tonight - the spectators weren’t happy with him in the least. He wasn’t fighting with his usual confidence and enjoyment. When he lost, and he was sure it was unavoidable, several of these fine gentleman were going to be angry with him. They would lose great deal of money on him, after all. Usually to bet on him was a guaranteed win; no one would appreciate their reversal in fortune.

Nevertheless, Sherlock tried to avoid being hurt overmuch. He was valiantly, although perhaps somewhat cowardly, trying to avoid the fists of a large, angry, and very determined man. Sherlock knew he only had himself to blame.

He had beaten the man at cards and made him quite fairly too, but his opponent hadn’t taken it well at all when Sherlock had pointed it out. He also hadn’t taken it well when Sherlock had called him a poor loser in front of the entire crowd of onlookers. Then, with the exaggerated care only the extremely drunk possessed, he proceeded to point out all his opponent’s mistakes. The man, Sherlock couldn’t quite seem to recall his name at the moment, had apparently felt he’s been most grievously insulted. Really, Sherlock had only been trying to assist him in bettering his game. Some people were just complete ingrates.

The man had turned a horrible shade of puce and roared like a lion in his anger.  He had grabbed Sherlock’s shirt, and then had demanded a chance to win his money back. After extricating himself carefully, Sherlock had suggested they fight it out instead. He could see know it had been a most unwise course to take. Perhaps those last two whiskeys had been a mistake. Clearly his judgement was most impaired and agreeing to fight in an inebriated state had not been one of his best ideas.

He had also greatly underestimated his opponent’s state of drunkenness. Unfortunately, he was far more sober than Sherlock and it showed. Once he’d realized this, his much abused sense of self-preservation had kicked in, and he’d tried to make out. The rowdy crowd had grown angry at the idea of being denied their entertainment and refused to let him out of the ring.  “Come, man, don’t be a damned milksop,” one man had shouted. He heard several far less polite words used to refer to his person as well. His opponent had grunted angrily, and simply ordered him to fight. He obviously wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

 _How had it come to this?_ Sherlock sighed in self-recrimination. As if he didn’t know. He had been desperately seeking to shut down his brain with copious amounts of alcohol and had succeeded a little too well. His usually quick-fire thoughts felt like molasses, and he was unable to properly analyze his opponent’s fighting style or predict his next moves with his usually accuracy. He tried to order his thoughts but they seemed to drift away before he could make them come to their usual precise arrangement.  He was sadly therefore unable to avoid being soundly beaten to a pulp. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable occurred.

He was a risk taker by nature. It was something he prided himself on. It had the added benefit of driving his brother mad - always an entertaining way to pass the time. However, he usually only picked fights he knew he could win.  Yes, it seemed the whole night had been a comedy of errors at his own expense. Sherlock tried to reason with his burly opponent. He really did. He’d said, ‘Sir there is no reason for us to continue to makes arses of ourselves in this undignified manner.’ But the man had just laughed and punched Sherlock right in the jaw. Really, it was most unsportsman-like behavior. Sweat ran into Sherlock’s eyes, stinging them, and he brushed it away. He could feel it running in rivulets down his back as well.

Sherlock spared a moment to wonder if he should worry about his recent poor decisions, and then dismissed the notion. It hardly mattered now. He still had his instincts, thankfully. They had never let him down before, and he could predict he would lose within five - no, _four_ \- moves. Then he’d sadly hit the floor in a most undignified fashion. He hoped he would be spared the indignity of unconsciousness, and that he’d be able to stumble to his room before passing out. He took a swing and missed completely. It was quite embarrassing. If only he weren’t seeing double.  He took a another swing and this time succeeded in making contact with his swarthy opponent’s gut; however he hadn’t been able put much strength behind it and the blasted bully just laughed at his poor efforts. Sherlock felt a rush of anger.

How dare this ruffian laugh at him? He was worth a thousand of this man. His anger roared in his ears and he lost control of himself. He swung out once again and then felt his fist being held firmly in the other man’s sweaty grasp. He could not move away. “Perhaps we could talk about this, my good man,” he cried to be heard over the din of the crowd, his words slurred, and unsurprisingly he was ignored. He tried again to collect his thoughts, to decide the best way to end this with the least amount of damage to his person. The next punch dislocated his jaw. Sherlock gasped against the pain.

Then most inexpertly, his very large opponent slammed his fist into Sherlock’s gut, and when Sherlock fell back from the blow, he was unable to maintain his balance due to his drunkenness. He was almost certain a rib was cracked, if not broken. His opponent took advantage and delivered the final blow to his head. Sherlock heard the crowd roar its approval. Sherlock had clearly miscalculated.  How unfortunate, he’d have to pay the price. He knew he’d never make it upstairs, but he trusted that a few of the men would carry him up and deposit him safely in his bed.

 _If I survive this,_ he thought. _I’ll find a way to talk to John_. It was a promise he made to both of them, and despite the pain he smiled. He would end the rift he’d created between them, and even if they never became lovers, he knew they’d be the best of friends. The stuff of legends. Although, he did hope they would be more. He also hoped he remembered his decision when he was sober. Provided he didn’t choke on his own vomit, of course. As blessed, painless darkness overtook him, his last thought as he lost consciousness was _I hope no one kisses me after I’ve passed out._

****

Loki paced back and forth across the sitting room, unable to be still for more than a few seconds. He was going to kill Sherlock Holmes as soon as he found him. The man had run out of the house two days ago without a word to either Mrs. Hudson or himself and he had yet to return. When Loki had returned from his trip to one of his hiding spots to find him gone he hadn’t been worried. A little annoyed that he’ just taken off, yes - although he was becoming accustomed to that - and disappointed not to have been able to go along. He missed Sherlock terribly when he was out, and wanted desperately to join him in one of his cases. He wanted to prove his worth as a companion to him, as soon as possible. He hoped that once he did he would never be left alone again.

Loki snorted in contempt. “Left alone indeed. After this I’m going to chain him directly to me, and then we’ll see how far he can get without me,” he muttered angrily to himself.

On some level he knew he was probably overreacting, just a bit. No matter how often he told himself this, he couldn’t seem to calm down. He knew if he had really been a man of this time, he might not have worried as much. After all, it had only been two days. However, Sherlock was his soul mate; being separated for even such a short while was painful. Loki had come to suspect that Sherlock had little or no sense of self-preservation. He ran head first into danger when he had a problem to solve. What if he was in trouble? It was Loki’s mission in life to take care of him. What if he was hurt, and had no one to help him? He felt his heart speed up at the thought, fighting down a feeling of panic. It was something he had done several times over the last forty-eight hours.

The only thing that kept him from running out after Sherlock was his current lack of magical power. Keeping himself and his soul mate hidden from Odin, and keeping this shape constantly, took a lot of energy. His magical reserve was still low; without access to Asgard, it would replenish itself at a very slow rate. There was a way he could speed the process up, but he was reluctant to use it. It could be unpredictable at the best of times.

It was true the soul bond was a vital part of both of them, but to access it - in order to locate Sherlock - still took magic. He was afraid if he gave into his urge, and went looking for him, he would have nothing left with which to defend his love, if he should be in danger. He had learned to use human weapons, but he did not fully trust them. Relying solely on a gun left too much to chance as far as he was concerned. Loki was not willing to take the chance with his soul mate’s safety, or even his life.

He wasn’t entirely helpless, however; he had a few resources at his disposal. He hoped to hear back from one or more of them very soon.

The door behind him opened, and Loki turned hastily and rose with hope, only to fall as Mrs. Hudson entered carrying a tea service and a tray of sandwiches.

“I’m not hungry, Mrs. Hudson,” he said curtly. He winced at his tone and smiled at her apologetically. None of this was Mrs. Hudson’s fault.

She looked over at Loki with motherly sympathy and affection.

“You must eat, Doctor Watson. I truly believe that Mr. Holmes is whole and hearty. He has most likely just lost himself in a new case. He’ll resurface when he’s ready. It’ll do you no good to waste away in the meantime,” she chided, sternly. “Come sit and eat something,” she ordered, setting the tray on Loki’s desk.

Loki sighed but acquiesced with as much grace as he could muster. Mrs. Hudson watched him eat, with a look of intense satisfaction on his face, for several minutes before she spoke again. “I promise you, Doctor. Mr. Holmes will be home soon, you’ll see.” Loki opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the ringing of the doorbell.

“If it’s a client, tell them Mr. Holmes is out and to come back another time, Mrs. Hudson.” She nodded and left the room. A few moments later he heard the murmur of voices, and then a very heavy tread upon the stairs. He sighed, wanting to throw whoever it was out but he didn’t want to hurt Sherlock’s business, so he gritted his teeth and prepared to be polite. He’d let them speak and then see them off as swiftly as he could.

The door opened and a tall but heavy set man came in. He was quiet over-weight, but there was a strong aura of power and intelligence about him, very similar to Sherlock’s. Loki knew who he was instantly, or at least who he used to be. He had wondered where Britta was hiding herself - Sygin’s faithful servant and shield maiden, who had asked to die and be reincarnated alongside her mistress. Wherever his mate’s soul resided Brita’s was always nearby, and usually in a position to protect him or her. This must be the infamous brother, at last.

Before he could speak the man held out his hand. “Dr. Watson, I presume.” Loki got the feeling this man knew exactly who he was. The man continued again without giving him a chance to speak, “My name is Mycroft Holmes. I am Sherlock’s brother. I hear he is not at home.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Doctor John Watson. No, Sherlock isn’t at home, he hasn’t been in two days, and I am sorry to report I have no idea where he might be.” Mycroft did not look surprised or particularly perturbed at the news. Loki felt emboldened to speak his mind. “But I think you already know that. Sir,” he replied.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. Possibly at his tone, but he accepted the verbal volley for what it was. A declaration that the usual pleasantries were neither required nor wanted.

“It’s true I don’t know where he currently is and none of my people can find him. I am quite … concerned for his safety, at the moment. You wouldn’t happen to have any pertinent information as to his whereabouts, would you?” Mycroft’s tone implied he suspected already knew the answer was an affirmative one.

Loki gritted his teeth in annoyance, but he strove to keep the anger from his voice. “No, I assure you I do not. If I did he’d be home now.”

Mycroft snorted. “You are quick to assume you would be able to control him.”

Loki smiled his most domineering smile. “It isn’t about control - it is about trust. I assure you I have Sherlock’s trust, as he has mine.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Interesting assertion, Doctor. We shall see,” he said with an enigmatic smile. _What is he planning_ , Loki wondered, warily but also with some affection. Dear Britta, always so suspicious of him. She had always been a thorn in his side.

“If you don’t mind,” Mycroft continued smoothly, “I would like to discuss you for a few minutes, if you are amenable, of course.” His smile was reminiscent of a snake that had sighted its prey.

Loki steadied himself internally, and outwardly he fought to maintain a bland look on his face. “Of course, I have nothing to hide.” He didn’t offer Mycroft a seat, however. No need to make the man comfortable for his interrogation.

“You have quite the interesting past, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft began.

“Do I?” Loki asked innocently. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Mycroft continued as if reading from a file, although there was nothing in his hand. “Doctor John Hamish Watson, age 35 years, recently returned from Afghanistan. Honorably discharged, and received his full pension. No living family. Both parents and one sibling, a brother, all deceased. Is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Loki acknowledged.

“The facts of your life are all very cut and dried, Doctor. There is absolutely nothing remarkable about you. Nothing to arouse suspicion. If you don’t mind me saying you are a remarkably ordinary man.” Loki felt cold shiver run down this spine. Where was this going? He had been so careful. He stiffened before he could stop himself.

Mycroft pretended to misunderstand Loki’s sudden apprehension. “Please don’t be upset that I had you investigated. I have all my brother’s acquaintances investigated. It is my standard policy. My brother is very impetuous and it falls to me as the older brother to look out for him, and protect him from himself as necessary. Surely you understand?”

Loki affected a small laugh. “Of course,” he said as easily as he could. “Surely you don’t think I am a danger to Sherlock? That is utterly preposterous, I assure you. As you’ve said I am nothing but an ordinary doctor and former solider.”

Mycroft leaned forward in sudden interest as if Loki had obliged him by stepping neatly into a trap.  “That’s just it, Doctor. John Watson is an ordinary man but he also seems to have appeared out of nowhere. You see, despite your impeccable records, I can find no one who remembers you in England. No former teachers, nor school mates, nor any friends. I am still waiting to hear back from my contacts in Afghanistan and India but I suspect I will find more of the same. Can you explain this?”

Loki silently cursed the modern age. It made his life so difficult sometimes. He missed the days where there were little or no records regularly kept on a person. Even in the 15th century the Medici family had mostly just accepted his presence as Leonard’s assistant without question, and Loki had rarely met more suspicious and distrustful people before or since. No matter his reincarnation, Mycroft was always infuriating. For a second, he fantasized about turning him into a slug, but alas, Sherlock would probably take exception, and insist on looking for him. More’s the pity.

Loki opened his mouth to reply, his throat suddenly dry. He felt his magic rear up within him in response to his agitation, ready to strike at his command. However, before he could make a reply, a small boy of ten or eleven burst into the room. He was filthy but dressed in decent enough clothing. Gifts from Sherlock, of course.

Loki recognized him directly. “Doctor Watson, Doctor Watson! I found him, I found Mr. Holmes! You have to come right away,” he cried excitedly.

Loki almost fainted in relief at both the interruption and wonderfully unexpected but welcome news that his mate had been found. Tears filled his eyes as he realized that, by the Norns, his prayers had been answered.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 5**

Loki turned his full attention to the boy standing before him, and almost vibrating with excitement. “Where is he, Tom? Tell me everything you’ve learned. Leave nothing out,” Loki demanded but he gave a small smile to remove some of the sting from his harsh tone. He was not annoyed with the boy, after all.

The boy’s low born accent let everyone know he was born and raised on the east side of London. It had taken Loki some time to get used to the sound. At first it had grated against his ear most unpleasantly. “I went down to the club that holds all of Mr. Holmes’ fights, and he was there two nights ago. He was terrible drunk, and goaded another man into a fight. The barkeep told me Mr. Holmes was hurt really badly.”

Loki sighed, closed his eyes and tried to calm his rioting emotions. How did Sherlock constantly get himself into these situations. Didn’t the idiot know not to get into drunken brawls? His soul mate was intelligent, and spirited in every life, but Sherlock took being a trouble magnet to a whole new level. He was definitely buying handcuffs at the first opportunity.

Loki made sure his voice held none of the anger or frustration he was feeling. “What happened next, Tom?” he asked as kindly as he could.

“He was knocked out or passed out, Brandson wasn’t sure which. Brandson told me, said he was going to have Mr. Holmes taken upstairs like always after a fight, but two large men pushed their way through the crowd, and picked him up and carried him out. He didn’t dare try to stop them. They looked right dangerous, apparently. Brandson said they were dressed like dock workers. He followed them, and saw them carry him into a private carriage. Mr. Holmes was still out cold,” Tom finished with a worried frown. All the boys of the Irregulars held Sherlock in high esteem.

“Did he happen to see which way they went?” Loki asked but without much hope for a positive answer.

Tom shook his head, and Loki sighed in disappointment. Then Tom continued excitedly, “But he did say there was a beautiful blue-blooded lady, waiting for them in the carriage. He recognized her. She’d been in there talking to Mr. Holmes before.”

There was only one person that could be. Mrs. Irene Adler. That bitch. That shameless seductress had gotten one over on him. He had let his guard down, and she’d struck like a poisonous snake. Loki saw red and anger rushed through his veins. Right then, he vowed if Irene had hurt his mate in any way, she would not live to regret it.  Sherlock had better not have even a scratch on him when Loki found him. Sherlock was not a plaything, and Irene had no business laying even one finger on him. She would pay with her life. Caution and staying off his father’s radar be damned. He’d roast her alive.

He was also angry with himself. He berated himself for his shortsightedness. He knew Irene was dangerous but, he had been distracted by his problems with Sherlock, and he hadn’t kept an eye on Irene the way he should have. Sherlock was in danger because of Loki’s inattention. _A mistake I will rectify posthaste._   He thought determinedly.

He turned back to Tom, beckoning the boy forward, and then when he was within reach, Loki laid a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Tom,” he said warmly. You’ve done very well.” The boy beamed at the praise and Loki’s heart hurt a little for him, to be so pleased by such small amount of acknowledgement. “Can you do one more thing for me?” The boy nodded eagerly, something uncomfortably close to hero worship in his eyes.

“Go back out and have all the boys ask around for the whereabouts of a Mrs. Irene Adler, but quietly. If you hear something send word. Be careful, Tom. Mrs. Adler is dangerous. You don’t want to come to her attention.” He nodded but looked uncertain. Loki understood why immediately. “Don’t worry, lad,” he said in a reassuring tone. “I’ll bring our friend home safe and sound.” Tom gave him a large smile. He was missing two front teeth.

“Yes, Doctor Watson,” Tom said quickly. Loki handed him a few coins in payment and the boy was off like a flash.

He glanced at Mycroft, who had surprised him by staying silent. He wore an extremely sour expression, as if he smelled something foul.

“My brother seems to have gotten himself into another pickle. Not that I should be surprised. The boy has very little self-control. Mummy is the only one who could ever get him to behave like a gentleman for any length of time.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I will rally my people and begin looking. But the fact that I heard nothing of his abduction does not bode well for us. I assume you will be looking for him.”

“Yes, I will,” Loki said grimly. _I’ll find him,_ he thought determinedly. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, and then smiled enigmatically at Loki. Loki scowled internally in annoyance. Must the man be so ridiculously mysterious all the time?

“My dear Doctor Watson, I’m not sure why but I feel you will have far more success than I, despite all the numerous resources at my disposal. I leave the matter in your no-doubt very capable hands.”

Mycroft walked over to the desk, and taking up fountain pen and ink, he swiftly wrote something on a piece of paper, and then walked over and handed it to Loki with a little flourish. “My address. If you need assistance, please don't hesitate to let me know.”

Apparently they had declared a temporary truce until Sherlock was found. That was fine by Loki.

Mycroft confirmed this with his next words, “I will leave you now, but rest assured our conversation is not over. I will have my answers. Good day.” He bowed once, smartly and with the ease of long practice. Loki stifled the urge to roll his eyes. Then mercifully he took his leave, closing the door on his way out.

Loki didn’t even wait for the outside door to close before he was rushing from the sitting room and making his way upstairs to his own quarters. He had not a moment to lose - every minute that Sherlock was in that nefarious woman’s clutches was a minute too long.

He’d have to use the soul bond to locate Sherlock but it would surely drain his magic to do so. Loki closed his eyes and tried to center himself, taking some deep breaths. There was only one choice open to him now.

He ran upstairs and grabbed his gun and his favorite ritual knife from its hiding place beneath a floor board. He would need blood if he was going to replenish is magic. He took a moment to grab some money, thinking perhaps he could bribe Irene’s goons, and ran back out and down the stairs and straight into an anxious looking Mrs. Hudson

He took a moment to reassure her, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll bring your wayward tenant home and to punishment. I’ll make him sit still while you fuss at him as much as you like."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at his feeble attempt at humor and nodded. “I’ll have some tea ready,” she promised, squaring her shoulders staunchly. Loki smiled at the mention of tea and nodded in approval. He knew the English believed that there was no situation that couldn’t be improved by the judicious application of tea.

He turned away from Mrs. Hudson, and ran down the steps. He turned down the street toward Regent’s Park, and found himself wishing that his mate didn’t so prefer metropolitan areas. He always gravitated toward the bustle and excitement of big populated areas. Loki usually approved, but this would be far easier in a nice remote and sparsely populated area.

He was immensely grateful that it would be dark soon, and there would be fewer people wandering around in the park at this hour. He did not want to risk any witnesses. Several dead bodies would be hard to explain. The park was the closest piece of undeveloped earth, and the easiest place for Loki to tap into Midgard’s nature magic. He was going to replenish his magical reserves by tapping into the magic of Midgard itself.

It was a risky endeavor. Midgard magic was wild and unpredictable, but he had no choice. He needed to replenish his reserves as quickly as possible. He would endure any pain necessary to protect the man he loved

 

**Part 6**

Sherlock slowly rose to consciousness. His mind was swimming; he felt that his brain was literally sloshing around his skull, in a most unpleasant manner. He was aware of pain all over his body, but his head felt like it was going to split open any moment. He wondered if he was concussed, then decided it hardly mattered as there was nothing he could do about it now. He could only hope that if he got a chance to escape from this place, he might be strong enough to take it.

He tried to open his eyes but the light felt like shards of glass stabbing his brain repeatedly. He groaned, closing his eyes again straightaway. He realized he was lying on a very comfortable bed. He tried to raise his hand to rub his face but found that his movement was hindered by virtue of being cuffed to the frame. He moved his wrist and heard the familiar rattle of the cuffs against the headboard.

Sherlock tried to get his bearings but neither his mind nor his body were cooperating. The last thing he remembered was winning a game of cards and then most unwisely challenging a large, angry man to a bout of fisticuffs. Most of the fight was a blur, but he was sure he’d lost rather spectacularly and made a complete fool of himself in the process.

He wracked his mind but try as he might, he could not remember what had happened next or how he’d ended up in this bed. He cracked one eye open and looked down at himself, confirming his initial impression, and completely naked no less. He’d clearly been drugged rather heavily. He wondered how long he had been here. Surely, John must be aware that something was wrong by now. He reflected that knowing that someone was missing him besides Mr. Hudson was quite useful, and he had to admit it felt very pleasant as well. Mycroft didn’t count; the gloating and lectures he subjected Sherlock to were not worth being rescued as far as he was concerned.

Sherlock swallowed thickly, his mouth as dry as the Sahara. He’d happily kill for a glass of water right now. The dread he always experienced when his mind failed him filled him, but he resolutely ignored it, pushing it to the back of his mind. He was certain his faculties would return in due course. Provided he did not have a serious concussion, and that he was not drugged too heavily again.

He had to bide his time and gather his strength. He opened his eyes and forced himself to look around. The room spun most unpleasantly, and their seemed to be two of everything, but Sherlock had seen enough to know he did not recognize his location. The room was quite luxurious though, and it was filled with high quality items. Whoever had kidnapped him certainly wanted him to be comfortable; surely this was a good sign. Sherlock briefly wondered what they wanted from him, but his head hurt too much to compute the possibilities with his usual precision.

Sherlock groaned again, he knew somehow that his flat mate would be coming to his rescue. In fact, he was certain of it. He couldn’t say where that certainly came from; he simply knew John would always come if Sherlock needed him. He smiled at the thought. John would no doubt be angry with him, but Sherlock wasn’t worried. He somehow felt John could not stay angry with him for long. His relief at seeing him safe would be too great, Sherlock was sure. He couldn’t help but be a little smug about it.

Despite never doubting his brother’s love for him, Sherlock had never really felt he had anyone he could totally depend on. Particularly after mummy and father had died. He also knew that John would never let him forget recent events or that he had to swoop in and rescue him like the Prince in a fairy tale. Sherlock closed his eyes and lay back on to the bed. He was not pouting, not one bit. Holmes did not pout. He’d changed his mind - Mycroft’s gloating would be preferable to John’s.

Perhaps, if he was lucky, his brother would get their first. Sherlock sighed wearily; he was so tired. He could do nothing but wait and hope that either his sense returned to him completely, or he would indeed be rescued. He allowed his eyes to slip closed, and within moments he fell into a natural sleep.

****

Loki walked through Reagent’s park until he found an area hidden by a crop of trees as far as he could get from the main path. He waited impatiently for the sun to set completely; the darkness would help insure that he wouldn’t be seen by any passers-by. He took a deep breath and worked to center himself, the way his mother had taught him. It was important that he remain calm if he was to have any hope of keeping control of the wild magic.

Magic wasn’t sentient but it was a living force. Wild magic was unpredictable and extremely strong. It would resist any attempt to tame it, and exploit any weakness it found. The only saving grace was that Loki knew if he succeeded, the magic of Midgard would yield to his use; it was surprisingly compatible with his own. Perhaps because he had spent so much time in this realm over so many hundreds of years. However, he had to convince the raw magic to accept him first. It had to be willing to join with his own magic. Wild magic could not be forced or corrupted against its will.

He sat on the ground and focused on calming himself. He drifted into a light meditation, visualizing the core of his magic within.  Once he felt ready, he cut his hand and let several drops fall into the grass. The magic required a small sacrifice from him. The magic was always present, of course. However, Loki had long since learned to block against it. It was necessary to protect himself and his own Asgardian magic from being overtaken. He carefully opened himself up to the natural magic around him. It felt like opening a door that was rusty with disuse. The magic in Midgard was very strong and mostly untapped. There were very few humans who possessed the ability to change it. The magic was hungry for contact; as soon as he opened himself up he could feel it rippling against his skin.

He reached out and called the magic into himself, as gently as he could. He asked it to accept him. To his surprise, he was not immediately rejected. The magic allowed itself to be drawn in, testing his strength. It felt more willing than normal. Unfortunately Loki didn’t have time to draw out the process or coax the magic as he normally would - it could take days. Instead, he tugged harder, taking a lot of magic into himself all at once, and tried to prepare for the backlash.

The Earth magic immediately took exception to his treatment and tried to fight him but he refused to let go. He hung on and then pulled harder still, demanding the wild magic join with his, that it bend to his will in this. He insisted it must learn to follow his commands. The magic responded by doubling its effort to escape, fluctuating violently. It felt to Loki as if there was fire running through his veins, burning him from the inside out. He tried to scream but could not get enough air into his lungs. The pain was beyond excruciating. Loki’s hold began to weaken, the magic beginning to slip from his grasp as it pulled away. Loki steeled himself and refused to let go. He focused on memories of his mate in his many forms, on their love, and his need to be reunited with him. He felt his will strengthen once more. He would not lose this fight.

His vision blurred, the magic lashed out at him continuously, but still he held on. Time felt suspended for several seconds and then he felt the magic’s pull begin to weaken against his will and determination. He was almost there. He put all his strength behind it and pulled on the threads of magic, tying Midgard’s magic to his own. Abruptly the magic stopped fighting him, the pain vanishing so quickly it left him breathless. Loki would have wept in relief if he could. He had proven his will was strong, that he was worthy. The magic came easily now, although the wildness of it still sung in his veins. He glutted himself on it, allowing it to replenish his magic completely. He hadn’t felt this powerful in a very long time.

The power literally buzzed under his skin as he closed his connection to the Earth and stood up. Cutting himself off from the source of the power that filled him was such a relief it was painful. The wild magic inside him didn’t like it and tried to rebel for a moment, but Loki was the one in control now.

Loki closed his eyes, shamelessly enjoying feeling the power coursing through him. He had rarely had so much magic to wield at one time. For several minutes, he allowed himself to revel in it - such a heady feeling, and an arousing one. He wished to have Sherlock with him now; they would have no need to speak when there were other ways Loki could make his desires and intentions known that were far more pleasurable than taking.

Thinking of Sherlock calmed Loki down somewhat. He forced himself to think past his magical buzz and focus on the problems at hand - namely, getting his ridiculously troublesome yet wonderful mate back in one piece. He sighed in resignation and syphoned some of the magic back into the ground. He was surprised when it seemed almost reluctant to be free of him, as if now that it had accepted him it wanted to stay. Midgard’s magic had never done that before. With a mental shrug, Loki put the matter aside to worry about another time.

Able to think for clearly, he gathered up his things and focused his magic on his soul bond. He felt it respond inside him, and he could see the trail leading him away from the park. The realization came as a shock; he had hardly ever had the kind of power needed to visually manifest the bond link. He was enthralled and stared, for it was a beautiful sight. Two think bands - one gold, the other silver - entwined together. They were braided so tightly together Loki knew that there was almost no one in all the nine realms with the power to separate them.

Loki felt a fierce pride and a bittersweet joy at the evidence of his connection to his mate made manifest before him. He was strangely humbled by it. The sight made his heart sing with elation, and any tiredness he might have been feeling left him. He felt his determination to get Sherlock back as soon as possible intensify.

He shook himself from his contemplation of the bond with some effort. Sherlock needed him, and there was work to be done. He dared not waste any more time. He shielded himself from view of the humans around him, eagerly following the bond toward his mate. Loki smirked in grim anticipation: Irene Adler had chosen the wrong God to cross, and she would soon see the error of her ways. She would pay for trying to take his mate from him. Loki would take great pleasure in teaching her the error of her ways.

Loki was not worried that Sherlock would respond favorably to her no doubt appalling attempts at seduction; no one knew how to make his mate respond, how to arouse him, the way Loki did. His soul mate had told him many times, in several different lifetimes, that all others paled in comparison to him. Heat curled in his belly at the memories of many lifetimes of loving one another.

He longed to renew their physical and emotional connections as soon as possible. _After this task was done, I will not let Sherlock retreat from me again_ , he thought. A determined God was a force not to be trifled with, a fact which Sherlock would soon learn. Loki snorted in self-derision. As if Sherlock didn’t have him wrapped around his little finger already. There was no sense in lying to himself, but perhaps Sherlock hadn’t figured it out yet. If so, Loki would not be informing him of the fact. He still had some pride, after all.

Then he had a sudden and unexpected thought, and began to laugh in surprised delight. He would never let Sherlock forget that Loki had to rescue him like some damsel in distress from a human fairy tale. Once he got Sherlock home safe and sound, they were going to have a long overdue talk... even if Loki had to tie him to the bed to make him listen.

****

Several people going about their business, near Regents Park, paused suddenly. It did not matter whether they were out for a night or going home after a long day at work. They heard the sound of a man laughing to himself, but when they looked around there was no one there. Frightened and unsure, many increased their pace, suddenly in a hurry to reach their destinations. Some even decided to forgo the night’s pleasures and return home to get some much needed rest. Unseen, Loki enjoyed the small unintended mischief he had caused.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 7**

Loki followed the soul bond and realized that he was being led out of the city. He stopped and thought about his next steps. He didn’t know how long it would take him to find Sherlock, since he really had no idea how far away he was being held. Then he realized how idiotic he was being. He was filled with power - he could simply transport himself to Sherlock’s location. He reached for the bond and felt along it once he reached the other end. He used the bond and concentrated on his mate’s location. It was a bit difficult because he didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he would remain invisible so he did not have to fear that anyone would see him before he was ready. Then with a thought and a push of magic he was gone.

He was surprised when he reappeared in a large, well-appointed bedroom. It was richly furnished, the carpet thick under his feet. His eyes were immediately drawn to the huge bed in the center of the room. Sherlock was lying on the left side of the bed. Although he was covered by a blanket, Loki could see enough to know that his chest was bare, and lying beside him was an equally naked Irene Adler. She was next to him and watching him as he slept. Loki felt a rush of anger - how dare Irene take advantage of Sherlock in this manner? If she’d laid one finger on him while he was unconscious, she’d be begging to die by the time Loki was done with her.

He felt his magic rise in response to his anger and the direct threat to his soul mate, represented by Irene, ready to respond to his command to strike. He was briefly tempted to gauge out her eyes. It was so strong Loki had to make an effort to rein it in. He would have to grow accustomed to having this much power again. He assessed the situation, and had to admit he was rather confused. What was going on here? What game was Irene playing?

He contemplated his options; he could just grab Sherlock, and transport him away. It would take a lot of magic but he had it to spare at the moment. However, Irene could decide to try to kidnap him again. He also wanted to know why Irene had grabbed Sherlock in the first place. If she’d only wanted to get him into bed there were far easier ways to accomplish it. If her goal had been for Loki to find them in bed together, as a way of pushing him and Sherlock apart, then surely she would have contacted him and allowed them to find the two of them in bed together.

Sherlock was safe for the moment, and Loki was here to protect him. Perhaps it would be better to wait and see what Irene did next.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Sherlock chose that moment to begin his return to consciousness. He stirred and opened his eyes.

****

Sherlock opened his eyes. He was relieved to find he felt much more awake and coherent than he had before. The memories from the last time he woke up were hazy but he remembered enough to know where he was. He also knew that there was someone lying in the bed next to him. He turned his head and found Irene watching him; he feigned surprise, attempting to throw himself from the bed. He hoped that she would believe he was still somewhat mentally impaired. He was forced to admit he was surprised to see her; he would never have thought Irene would kidnap him. Surely she hadn’t gone to such great lengths simply to get him into bed?

Irene smiled at him, almost gently. “Careful, Sherlock darling. You’ve been unconscious for a long time. Give yourself a few moments to adjust.”

Sherlock snorted. “The only reason I am having trouble regaining my faculties is because you drugged me. Several times if I’m not mistaken. You didn’t take advantage of me while I was unconscious, did you?” he asked, more to annoy her than out of any real concern for his virtue.

Irene smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course not, I prefer my partners be able to participate fully,” she said primly. “I could apologize but it is your stubbornness that made all this necessary. If only you had responded to my advances like any normal man, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.” She reached out and ran her hand down his chest. “We could be so good together, Sherlock, if only you’d give us a chance.”

Sherlock sighed, reaching out to remove her hand from his person. “To be frank, my dear, I’ve never understood your interest in me. You must realize your charms have very little effect on me. I have no desire to have carnal relations with you, I’m afraid. If that’s all you wanted from me can I go?”

As he knew it would, his words infuriated Irene and she dropped all pretense of trying to seduce him. “How dare you, Sherlock Holmes! There are thousands of men far better than you who would kill to have me. Some _have_ killed for me. I can have any man I want groveling at my feet, except for you. Why?” she demanded, and Sherlock was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

He was also surprised to feel a stirring of sympathy for her. It had never occurred to him that his rejection might be hurting more than her pride. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she could truly care for him.

“I’m sorry, Irene. Try not to take it personally. The truth is I’m not interested in anyone in that way. There are other things much more important to me than sexual congress.  I am just not interested, full stop.” Sherlock shrugged negligently.

Irene’s eyes narrowed at his tone. “I think we both know that’s not true, dearest,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. “We both know how you feel about John Watson, don’t we?”

Sherlock felt himself stiffen. “Leave John out of this,” he said sharply.

Irene smiled in triumph at his reaction. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, and I don’t understand it.” She seemed genuinely puzzled for a moment. “You’ve hardly known him a month and he has your attention in a way I’ve never seen before. Why him and not me?” she asked almost plaintively.

She looked so lost just then that Sherlock was driven to be honest with her. “I don’t know... there is just something about him. He looks so ordinary and yet he is the least ordinary person I’ve ever met. He is so open and yet so closed off. He is a riddle I want - no, _need_ \- to solve. I want to know everything about him. He fascinates me. And I can’t imagine a time when he’ll ever be dull.”

Irene laughed bitterly. “Well, how can I compare with a man who arouses such feelings in you, and holds such incredible interest to you? I never had a chance, did I?” she said softly.

Sherlock shook his head. “I admire you a great deal, Irene, but I think I could love John. Might already be a little in love with him, in fact.”

Irene’s shoulders shook and for one horrible second Sherlock thought she was crying, but then he realized she was laughing.

“That is extremely unfortunate, Sherlock, for the both of us. Sherlock Holmes in love, and with a man no less. There is no way I could have anticipated this. He won’t be able to blame me for my failure.”

She reached under the pillow, pulled out a gun, and pointed it at Sherlock. “He’ll be upset I had to kill you, but he’ll see I had no choice.”

Before Sherlock could react, the gun was flying out of Irene’s hands and then she herself was being pinned to the bed by an invisible hand. Sherlock struggled to understand what was happening. What on earth was going on? Beside him, Irene was gasping for breath.

Suddenly, John was standing in front of them, his hand wrapped around Irene’s throat, looking absolutely murderous.

Irene’s eyes widened in shock and terror, and Sherlock knew he wore a similar expression. Although he wasn’t scared because he knew John wouldn’t hurt him, he was absolutely riveted by the unexpected turn of events. _I knew John was singular_ , he thought smugly. How had John appeared out of nowhere? He wanted to know everything. But first he had to stop John from killing Irene if possible.

John was speaking in a quiet, deadly tone. “Listen carefully, Mrs. Adler,” he sneered. “Tell me who you’re working for. I warn you I will know if you are lying.”

Irene gasped for breath and John released the pressure on her throat slightly. “I can’t tell you. Have mercy,” she pleaded. “If I do, he’ll kill me. He’s the most dangerous, vicious man I have ever known.”

John laughed cruelly. “I assure you, Irene, that however dangerous or malicious this man might be, at his worst he pales in comparison to what I am capable. Tell me or I will take great pleasure in breaking your neck like a twig.”

Sherlock believed John would and he could see Irene did too. Sherlock felt a rush of arousal curl in his belly, and was a bit surprised that he found Loki’s display of ruthlessness and power so arousing.

In desperation Irene tried to dislodge Loki. She kicked out, but it was futile; his grip was made of iron. He didn’t seem to struggle at all as he held onto her. He squeezed her throat in warning. “Alright, alright,” she gasped. John let up again, and she rasped, “Moriarty. His name is James Moriarty.”

John nodded. “And what does this man want with Sherlock?”

Irene shook her head in denial but upon seeing John’s face darken again she answered with obvious reluctance. “He considers Sherlock the only man who could possibly oppose him. He tasked me with seducing Sherlock and turning him to our cause, or if that failed to kill him. Although, he made it clear that was only to be done as a last resort.”

At the mention of killing Sherlock John’s face had twisted with an expression Sherlock didn’t know how to put a name to. There were so many emotions running across his face in mere seconds, among them anger but also a sadness that Sherlock didn’t understand, and a deep pain. Sherlock was growing frustrated by the many things he didn’t understand about this situation. When this was over John had better be willing to answer all of the questions racing through his mind. Sherlock would accept nothing less.

John was still demanding answers form Irene, and other than Moriarty’s plans having something to do with buying companies that manufactured weapons she claimed to know nothing more.

John seemed to believe her because he nodded and released her. She sat up slowly, clutching her throat and watching John warily. Irene was one of the cleverest women he knew, but she’d met her match in John. Sherlock felt his pulse quicken at the thought. John really was perfect for him John looked over at Sherlock, a question in his eyes. Sherlock understood what he was asking, and shook his head. John nodded in acceptance and turned back to Irene.

“I should kill you, but I won’t. I am sparing your life only for Sherlock’s sake, understood?” Irene nodded frantically. “Leave tonight and don’t ever come back. I hear Morocco is lovely this time of year.” He murmured a few words and a blue light shot from his fingers toward Irene’s throat.

He spoke and his tone told Irene to heed his words. “You won’t be able to speak of anything you’ve seen me do here today. I’d advise you not to try. If you fight the spell too much it could kill you,” he said calmly.  “Good bye, Irene. It’s been a definite displeasure getting to know you.

He waved his hand again and Irene slumped over, unconscious. Sherlock reached over and found her pulse - she was alive. He looked up at John who looked amused.

“She’ll be fine. I said I wouldn’t kill her. She might be a bit surprised on waking but it’s nothing permanent, I promise. We have to get out of here.”

Sherlock pointedly rattled the cuff around his wrist and John grinned. In a moment the cuff opened seemly on its own. “I have so many questions” was the first thing out of Sherlock’s mouth.

John laughed. “I’m sure you do and I’ll answer them all, but first we need to leave. Wait a moment.” He looked around until he found a robe, then helped Sherlock stand and put it on. Sherlock noticed he also pocketed the handcuffs.

John pulled Sherlock into his arms and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” he said fiercely. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

Sherlock shook his head. “She didn’t touch me,” he promised. “I want to know everything,” he warned. Best to be sure John understood.

John nodded with a happy grin. He leaned back and gazed into Sherlock’s eyes, brushing the hair away from his forehead. He smiled so tenderly it took Sherlock’s breath away. “You said you could love me,” he said.

Apparently more to himself than Sherlock, but Sherlock nodded anyway. John leaned forward and kissed him gently, little more than a brush of lips. He would have released Sherlock but his mate found he didn’t want to be released, and deepened the kiss instead. John’s lips felt warm and soft. They kissed for some time, slow and gentle, lingering over each kiss. Sherlock had never taken the time to kiss anyone like this before. He shivered as a wave of desire raced up his spine.  The world had narrowed down to just the two of them, and it was wonderful. The feel of John’s lips moving against his own felt incredible. Kissing had never felt like this before, perhaps everything would feel like this with John. Sherlock trembled in anticipation - he couldn’t wait to experiment. Sherlock had no idea how long they kissed before they had to come up for air. He moaned in protest.

John grinned. “We really should have to talk you know,” he said. Sherlock made a sound of denial, and John laughed in pure joy. "Let’s go home,” he said, and with a wave of his hands the world around them dissolved into nothingness.

 

**Part 8**

Two weeks had passed since Loki had rescued his mate, and Sherlock was almost completely healed. Loki had used his magic to speed up Sherlock’s natural healing abilities. He lamented he could not heal Sherlock completely but magic and healing did not mix well. It was best to allow the body to mend primarily on its own.

Sherlock had been filled with questions and demands for information but Loki had managed to forestall him. The truth was, now that the time had arrived, he was nervous. He rarely told his human lover the truth about himself. Perhaps it was a bit superstitious, but Loki often felt that when he told his mate the truth trouble soon followed after.

Each time he hoped, planned and was determined to keep his mate forever, but in the end he always lost. He was terrified this time would be no different. However, Sherlock was growing impatient - when he wasn’t demanding answers he was watching Loki like a hawk. Loki felt his observant gaze constantly. He knew his every action was being categorized and stored away; it was quite unnerving. Sherlock might be his soul mate, but each version of him was his own person with his own quirks. Loki found he was having trouble having Sherlock’s full attention focused on him. He supposed he would grow accustomed to it, and he did enjoy the fact that his mate was not bored by him as he was by so many other people.

He turned his mind to more pleasant topics. One good thing had come out of the debacle with Irene: he and Sherlock touched much more than they used to, a hand on the shoulder or on the small of Loki’s back. Sherlock even allowed Loki to help him dress, and he’d allowed himself to have a sponge bath. Although, Loki had had to insist. Sherlock had blushed the whole way through, which Loki had found endearing. He had resolutely ignored the erection Sherlock had been sporting by the end, although he had longed to take it in his hand and stroke him to completion. He knew Sherlock would be beautiful as he experienced physical pleasure.

He had restrained himself, much to Sherlock’s frustration. He would not allow Sherlock to hurt himself further. He did however allow other forms of intimacy. He and Sherlock kissed often, and held each other as often as they dared with Mrs. Hudson downstairs. Often after everyone was in bed Sherlock would sneak into Loki’s room and they would sleep curled up together. It was truly wonderful, although Loki regretted that the mores and barbaric laws of the time required them to be careful.

He had initially been surprised by how often Sherlock initiated the contact between them; it was as if now that he had become reacquainted with physical touch and intimacy, he couldn’t seem to get enough. It saddened Loki to realize how starved for affection and closeness Sherlock clearly was.

They had also talked often, making up for lost time. They'd spent many pleasant hours getting to know one another better. They had shared stories of the years before they'd met. Loki had told him about his mother, whom he missed and the problems he'd had with his father. He'd had to continue the pretense that his family was dead and change many of the pertinent details in his stories, but he had been as truthful as possible. In return, Sherlock had told him about his brother, and many humorous tales from his time at University.

However, Sherlock was feeling well enough that he would no longer be put off for any reason. He had informed Loki this morning that they would talk today, and despite his apprehension Loki had smiled fondly. Of course, Sherlock’s first need - his greatest hunger - would be for knowledge above all other things. Loki knew he needed to stop hiding like a child. He had told Sherlock he would no longer be allowed to avoid him, and he knew he could do no less. It was time to tell Sherlock the truth of his origins.

Now was as good a time as any. Mrs. Hudson was visiting her sister and would be gone for several days. They had the whole flat to themselves. Sherlock was waiting for him, and Loki knew he needed to stop hiding. Everything would be fine, Sherlock would believe him, and he wasn’t the type to turn away or try to burn Loki at the stake. That had almost happened once; the whole situation had been quite unpleasant to say the least. He hoped to never repeat the experience.

Loki took a deep breath as he left his room and walked into the living room. Sherlock was avidly gazing at something through a microscope. He looked up as John entered. “Ah John, I’m glad you’re up. I need some skin and hair samples from you, oh and saliva if you’d be so kind.” Sherlock looked at him expectantly, with the same air of impatience and excitement he got when on a case.

_What is he on about now?_ Loki thought in confusion. They’d had no clients, nor had Inspector Lestrade come by looking for help.

“Well, hurry up, John, I haven’t got all day. Time is of the essence! This is just the first of many tests I have in mind,” Sherlock said impatiently

“Tests?” Loki asked. Then the other shoe dropped. “You want to run tests on me why?” he demanded, more surprised than he maybe should have been.

Sherlock actually rolled his eyes. “Honestly, John. You are clearly some sort of magical being. Are you a witch? Or perhaps some sort of fae?” He guessed eagerly. “Up until last week I would have said such a thing was impossible, but here you are. Real and standing right in front of me. I want to look at your cells to see if they differ from mine. Tell me, are you human or some other species all together?” Sherlock looked like an excited child.

A fae, really. Loki was slightly offended, he was no elf! Only his soul mate would ever be allowed to make such a horrible assumption and walk away unscathed. “I – you’re taking the possibility very well,” Loki said

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t care what you are. You could be an alien; it would hardly matter to me.” He raised an eyebrow at the sound Loki made but was too distracted to focus on what it might mean. Except from a scientific stand point of course.

He suddenly looked uncertain. “Not that you aren’t important to me just as you are,” he assured Loki earnestly. “But surely you can’t deny me the opportunity to gather all the data I can about you. It isn’t every day that I run across something - er, excuse me, some _one_ so different.” He looked at Loki with an expression that was both pleading and filled with hopeful excitement.

Delightful. The Norns help him, he found Sherlock delightful like this.

Loki sighed. He thought he should be offended at the idea of being studied but it was Sherlock after all. He knew he’d never be able to deny his mate anything when he looked at him like that.  On impulse he walked over to Sherlock and kissed him soundly. He went to pull back but Sherlock deepened the kiss instead. He parted his lips slightly and Sherlock responded by taking advantage and slipping the tip of his tongue inside.

The kiss turned more passionate and they indulged themselves for several minutes Loki felt his toes curling and his lips tingled pleasantly whenever they met Sherlock’s. Eventually, Loki pulled away, gasping for breath.

“As much as I’m enjoying this, we need to talk,” Loki said reluctantly.

Sherlock wore a glazed expression, his beautiful, familiar eyes dilated with desire. He reached out and stroked Loki’s cheek. “It’s amazing how you always do that. Of course, I will need to collect more data to fully categorize the effects.”

“Do what? Kiss you?” Loki asked amused by the idea. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Yes, that too. But I’m referring to the way you quiet my mind. When you kiss me, you become my whole world, and for a few minutes everything else is held at bay. It is a-” Sherlock paused for several long, agonizing seconds “-miraculous experience,” he finally admitted, almost shyly. Loki was shocked and incredibly pleased.

His heart melted. It was the most romantic thing his soul mate had ever said to him, and so perfectly Sherlock that it hurt.

Loki longed to pull his soul mate back into his arms for another snog, or better yet take him upstairs, but he knew when he made love to Sherlock for the first time, he wanted to hear his real name on Sherlock’s lips. It was a pleasure he had been too often denied in the past.

He took Sherlock’s hand and led him to the sofa, adjusting them until they were seated comfortably.

He smiled at Sherlock. “I have a long story to tell, so please try to be silent. To begin with I am a magic wielder, but no, I am not a witch or a wizard such as you must be imagining. I am from a species of people known as the Asgardians; I am a Price of Asgard in fact. Asgard is one of the nine realms in this galaxy, of which Midgard - or Earth as you call - is another.” Sherlock’s eyes widened. “So yes,” Loki said. “I am in fact an alien. It relieves me to know you can accept this,” he teased.

For once Sherlock was completely speechless. _I should make a note of this for posterity_ , Loki thought. He was having much more fun than he thought he would. Seeing Sherlock like this was most entertaining.

“There’s more,” Loki added when Sherlock looked like he was about to speak

“More!” Sherlock practically shrieked in shock. Loki stifled a laugh. It was most undignified if very humorous, in Loki’s opinion, but understandable under the circumstances.

“Yes, do you think you can handle it? Some of these things may be hard for a mortal to accept,” he said honestly, for once not intending any slight toward the Midgardians.

Sherlock leaned forward and grabbed Loki’s hands in his as if to hold him in place. “Of course, I can handle it,” he said indignantly. “Don’t you dare stop,” he demanded. “Tell me absolutely everything.” Sherlock had apparently recovered from his first shock, his eyes sparkling with interest and excitement.

Best to just get it over with, Loki decided. “Once a long time ago, the people of Earth called us Gods. I am Loki, the God of Mischief and Chaos. I have lived for many thousands of years and this is not my true form.” Loki found himself holding his breath. Would Sherlock call him mad and send him away, or would he be believed. He had never revealed himself so early before, and most lifetimes he had never revealed the truth at all.

He’d apparently succeeded in shocking Sherlock again because the man was just staring at him, his mouth gaping open. He looked ridiculous, but this time Loki was too nervous to be amused - much. He waited for Sherlock to speak; it was truly nerve wracking. Loki stifled the urge to get up and pace.

Finally, Sherlock spoke. “You are a God,” he said slowly as if measuring his words carefully. “And not just any God. You are the infamous Loki, the trickster God.” Loki nodded in confirmation, his heart in his throat.

Sherlock’s sudden grin was blinding. “This is incredible! I knew there was something more to you than what I could readily observe. You have always bothered me, like an itch beneath my skin.” Loki made a face, that wasn’t attractive at all.

Sherlock correctly read his expression and said, “No, it’s wonderful! No one has ever affected me the way you do. I can never get enough of you. But that’s not important, right now,” Sherlock dismissed his very intriguing statement. Loki pouted. He wanted to hear more.

“Imagine the things you know, what you’ve witnessed, the history you saw firsthand. You can tell me so much. About how the universe works, and science and technology, the possibilities are endless!” He cried. “I hardly know where to start.”

Loki cut him off by kissing him once hard in gratitude. Only his soul mate would believe such a crazy tale and get excited by it. Loki could hardly believe his luck. Sigyn had always been perfect for him. She’d always understood him, even when he was being a complete arsehole.

Loki gently took his lips off Sherlock’s. “Better?” he asked affectionately.

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry, I was overwhelmed by all the possibilities and my various calculations. It really is amazing, how you do that,” he added, looking at Loki as if he was the most wondrous thing Sherlock had ever seen.

“I will answer any question you have, we have plenty of time together, and yes you can experiment on me.” Sherlock gasped in delight. “Within reason,” Loki added quickly. "With the understanding, that the information you gather is to remain between the two of us. No one else can ever know.”

Sherlock nodded. “I remember seeing pictures of the Norse Gods in old story books; you look nothing like how you are described.”

Loki smiled ruefully. “This is not my true form,” he admitted. “It is safer for me to travel to Midgard in disguise.”

Sherlock frowned. “Safer?” he questioned. Loki smiled again; he should have known Sherlock would latch onto that immediately. Loki couldn’t bring himself to tell Sherlock the whole truth. Not yet. He had taken all of this remarkably well, but what if the truth of their bond was one shock too many?

“I think there have been enough revelations for one day. You still need to allow yourself plenty of rest, and we have yet to discuss this mysterious Moriarty and what he might want.”

Sherlock shook his head, seemingly intent on pushing the issue, but then he paused to reconsider. He smiled shyly. “I accept,” he said surprising Loki. “But only if you agree to distract me with more pleasant things.”

“Oh I see,” Loki smiled coyly. His heart sped up in anticipation. “What did you have in mind?”

Sherlock smiled, his eyes filled with heat. He pulled Loki down with him until they were lying on the couch and kissed him for several very pleasant minutes. Sherlock ran his hands down Loki’s back and over his arse, squeezing gently. Loki broke the kiss and ignored Sherlock’s sound of protest. Smiling wickedly, he opened up Sherlock’s robe and kissed down his naked chest. He alternated kisses and little love bites, stopping to pay special attention to each of his nipples in turn. Beneath him Sherlock was moaning and moving restlessly with desire. Loki felt himself harden in response. Nothing pleased him more than giving his mate pleasure. It aroused him to know that Sherlock was responding with such abandon to his touch.

Loki made his way down Sherlock’s chest, continuing to alternate kisses and nips until he reached his navel, then he sat up and moved further down. Sherlock raised his head, his pupils blown with lust, but before he could ask any questions Loki kissed the tip of his cock several times and licked the underside gently. Sherlock groaned as Loki slowly took his mate’s cock into his mouth, sucking at first quite softly and then increasing the pressure as Sherlock groaned. He played with Sherlock’s balls, tugging them gently in his hand, playing with them experimentally. Judging by Sherlock’s response, he enjoyed Loki’s efforts.

He took more of Sherlock’s cock inside his mouth and hummed around it, listening to the wonderfully erotic noises Sherlock made. He had apparently lost the ability to speak, Loki noted with amusement. Loki hummed around his cock with more force and continued to suck for several moments. Sherlock arched above him, crying out his name once, and then again. His real name. Hearing his true name screamed by Sherlock in ecstasy was even more erotic than he ever imagined.

Loki’s cock jerked in response to his lover’s cries, and he knew he would come quickly and with very little encouragement.  Loki knew Sherlock was about to come so with a wicked grin he swallowed his cock in one swift motion, thousands of years of practice serving him well. Sherlock shouted in surprise and came immediately. Loki was prepared and swallowed his come without gagging, continuing to swallow through his orgasm. His only regret was that he could not see Sherlock’s face light up with his pleasure. He was sure it was a beautiful sight. Next time, he promised himself.

Then he slowly released Sherlock’s cock. He took himself in hand and with a few strokes he came; his orgasm was explosive, pleasure dancing up his spine in delicious aftershocks. Loki wasn’t surprised - everything was better with his soul mate by his side. He shook off his post orgasmic stupor and took Sherlock’s cock back into his mouth. Loki continued to suck gently on the tip through Sherlock’s aftershocks, and then with a final kiss, he let it fall from his mouth. Too lazy to get up, he conjured a warm wash cloth and cleaned off his mate. He then crawled up next to Sherlock, spooning him from behind so they could both fit on the sofa.

He stroked Sherlock’s back, slick with perspiration, and waited for him to speak. “That was incredible,” Sherlock finally rasped. “I never knew I could feel like that,” he admitted, and Loki smiled smugly against his shoulder.

“I’m glad,” he said softly. “There’s a lot more pleasure to come, I promise.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Sherlock asked.

“Let’s wait; I want to hold you for a while.”

Sherlock nodded. “That sounds pleasant,” he agreed. “Can I see your real form?” he asked quietly.

Loki sighed in regret. “Not now, but someday,” he promised. “When it’s safe for us.”

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll accept that for the moment, but I want to know it all,” he warned, and then closed his eyes. Within moments, he was asleep. Loki smiled and kissed the back of his mate’s neck softly.

He felt joy and optimism sweep over him. For the first time in centuries he felt that everything would be alright. They would have a good life here, and Loki might even open a medical practice. There were many poor who suffered and Loki felt sympathy for their plight. He was forced to admit that perhaps humans weren’t all bad. He had to admit he had allowed his father’s attitude to poison him. Humans were not as mindless and hopeless as he had feared. He’d met quite a few in this life time that he liked.

They still had many obstacles to overcome, and Loki would not allow this Moriarty person to continue to threaten his mate. However, Loki’s heart was full of love and hope; for the first time he welcomed them freely into his lightened heart. This lifetime would be the one. This time, he and Sherlock would overcome the curse that plagued them.

Eventually, he would reveal their bond, and he’d offer Sherlock the gift of eternal life. They would be together forever. Together he and Sherlock were a force to be reckoned with. They had all the time in the world, and Loki would let nothing come between them ever again.

**The End.**

 

**Epilogue**

Loki lashed out in grief and rage. He hurled his magic against the prison walls until he literally collapsed from exhaustion. Sherlock was dead. His mate had been taken from him once again by the cruel hand of fate. Loki had not been there to protect him and his mate had been killed, shot in their home where he should have been the safest. Loki had done his best. He’d removed the bullet, cleansed the wound completely, and covered it. He had used to his magic to encourage healing, knowing all the while that it would do no good. Sherlock had suffered a mortal wound, and there was nothing Loki could do to save him.  Not even the strongest magic could heal such a wound. Loki knew only a golden apple would save his love.

Sherlock had known he was dying, despite Loki’s attempts to hide it. His love could read him like a book. He had looked at Loki with deep sadness but acceptance in his eyes. “You’re going to be fine, dearest,” Loki had promised. “Together always, remember that.”

Sherlock had smiled. “Liar,” he’d gasped, struggling to get air into his lungs. “Can’t fool me though.”

Loki had felt tears running down his face. “No matter the time or the place, you are my only love. The only soul who brings me happiness and joy. You are the other half of me, Sherlock.

“Look,” he’d ordered softly, and he’d made the bond between them visible. Despite the fact that Sherlock was dying, it was still as vibrant and beautiful as ever. The twin strands of silver and gold shimmered in the light.

Sherlock gasped. “Is that ours?” he managed to ask. Loki nodded. Sherlock was always quick to grasp the truth of things, he thought lovingly, even as his heart broke.

“Our souls have and always will be connected. We are mates of the soul and I will always find you, no matter how long it may take.”

Sherlock nodded, still looking at the bond intently, but the light in his eyes had begun to dim.

Loki leaned over and kissed him tenderly on the lips one last time. “I love you,” Sherlock stuttered, but before Loki could reply he lapsed into unconsciousness. His breathing was labored and slow but he still lived. Loki still had time to make this right.

“I love you too,” Loki whispered, his voice breaking. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

Promising to return as soon as he could, he kissed Sherlock again on the forehead, and left Mrs. Hudson to tend to him. He’d returned to Asgard as swiftly as he could without a thought to any mortals who might see him. He no longer cared about hiding. Saving his mate was all that mattered now. Only after Sherlock was safe would he turn his attention to finding and destroying whoever had so gravely injured him. They would feel the full wrath of a vengeful God.

Unfortunately, Loki had made a fatal mistake - one which would torment him for years to come. In his utter desperation, he had given no thought to being caught. He had used one of his back doors into Asgard, and had approached the field were the golden apples were grown. Before he could even reach them, his father and brother had stopped him in his tracks. Loki had not even felt the alarm he had triggered as he’d entered. He’d begged and pleaded with his father to give him an apple, and allow him to save his mate. His father, however, had been unmoved.

His eyes filled with cold anger as he had stared Loki down. Loki had looked toward Thor, who had returned the glance with an apology in his eyes and then turned away. Loki despaired, knowing he would receive no help from his brother. He looked around in desperation for his mother but she was nowhere to be seen.

Loki had tried one last time to plead his case but been denied. In a crazed flash of grief-fueled rage he had done the unthinkable, the unpardonable. He'd attacked Odin All-Father in his own throne room. He would never forget the sight of his former father being blasted right out of his chair and across the room. If things had not been so dire, he might have laughed at the sight Odin made, lying on the floor in an undignified heap.

Odin had stood, and Loki had never seen his father so furious. When he had spoken, the whole room had shaken with the force of his power.

"Loki Odinson, you have committed two great crimes here today. You have broken into Asgard to steal a golden apple, something far more precious than even the most costly gem. To compound your terrible crime you have attacked Odin All-Father, your King and father, the man to whom you should owe the greatest fealty. This is no way to honor me. You do this for what, a lowly human, little better than a goat that you fancy yourself in love with.” His father mocked him, angrily.

“I do it for love,” Loki shouted in fury and utter despair. “My soul mate is dying. You cared for Sigyn once. Please, help me save her life?” he pleaded one last time, falling to his knees. “I am begging, father. I am on my knees. What more can I do?”

His pleas fell on deaf ears. His father had ordered him to be incarcerated for his crimes, and turned away, but not before binding Loki to make sure he couldn’t fight the guards or escape. “I am no longer your son,” Loki shouted as he was dragged away. Odin showed no sign he had heard. Loki had been incarcerated in a magical prison from which he could not escape, in the deepest and darkest parts of Asgard’s dungeons.

Now he lay on the floor, exhausted and in too much pain to move. Sherlock was surely dead by now. His mate had died all alone. Had he regained consciousness? Did he wonder why Loki had left him? Fresh pain stabbed at Loki’s heart. His mate was lost to him once again. Worse, locked away like a criminal, Loki did not even have the hope of being reunited in Sigyn’s next life. His heart ached as he thought of his mate being reborn into a world without him. He or she would suffer, always feeling as if something was missing, if Loki was not there to ease the ache. Curse the Norns, those fickle bitches. The curse had won. Loki was well and truly alone, again.

Loki screamed in despair, and for the first time in many years, he put his head on his arms and wept.

****

Frigga watched her youngest child sob himself to sleep. His cries of heartache had broken her fierce mother’s heart. Answering pain filled her own breast, and she longed to comfort him but dared not risk Odin’s suspicion or his wrath, not now. He must believe she was still on his side, that she still believed in the righteousness of his actions. He could not know of her plans or all would be lost. She was determined to see both her children happy and safe. She did not like the way that Odin was twisting Thor, making him cold and hungry for power like his father. It was yet another matter she would have to tend to.

Her son’s tears were finally abating. Why must her Loki be made to suffer so? He and Sigyn deserved happiness. It was true Loki had once been quite selfish, but he had learned and grown so much. He deserved so much more than this. She had trusted that eventually Loki and Sigyn would find happiness again, but every time some unknown force interfered.

She had listened to her husband and followed his dictates for far too long. Her husband was wise in many ways, but when it came to Loki his judgment was clouded. He had wronged Loki terribly with his actions.

Frigga would stand idle no more, nor be content to wait. Sigyn would reincarnate again, and this time things would be different. She could not comfort Loki or assist him in his grief immediately, but she would make certain he would have a blissful future. She pressed her hand to the glass and blew her son an unseen kiss. She turned away, determination evident in her stride. She had plans to make. Next time Loki would not fail. He and his soul mate would be together, for always. She would make sure of that.

 


End file.
